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RINGWOOD MANSE 



PASTORAL POEM 



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E. P. MILLER 



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Go. little stranger; on the sea 

Of public favor bravely sail; 
In thine own strength we set thet free 

''Gainst adverse winds which man prevail. 



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WASHINGTON, D. C. 

SCHOOL OK MUSIC'' PRINT 

1887. 



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MK. HUTCHESON 

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AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED 



TO 

MISS JULIA RINGWOOD BALCH, 

IN 

TESTIMONY OF THE AUTHOR'S DEVOTED FRIENDSHIP, 

HIS ADMIRATION FOR HER VARIED LITERARY 

AND CLASSICAL ATTAINMENTS, AND FOR 

THE ENNOBLING QUALITIES OF 

HEART AND MIND SO 

BEAUTIFULLY EXEMPLIFIED IN HER DAILY LIFE. 



PREFACE. 



Ringwood Manse was long the peaceful abode of its owner, 
the late Thomas B. Balch, D. I). It is situated in Fauquier 
county, Virginia, near the hamlets of Auburn and Greenwich, with- 
in the beautiful valley of Piedmont, and in view of the Blue Ridge 
Mountains towering in the distance. 

Amid these picturesque surroundings lived this learned divine 
with his accomplished consort, in happy contentment, beloved by all 
who knew them. Here they reared a numerous family of devoted 
children, under the benign influences, not only of their own instruc- 
tions, but the pure impressions which Nature in her attractive envi- 
ronments, produced upon hearts thus prepared for all that would 
elevate their thoughts to Him, adored as the source of all true 
blessings. 

The mother was a lady of rare gifts and culture, belonging to 
one of the noblest families of the grand old State, exhibiting in a 
remarkable degree qualities of heart and mind which distinguished 
her kinsman, General Robert E. Lee, and made his name known 
and loved throughout the world. 

Although the author never had the pleasure of visiting the 
scenes referred to in this poem, he had the privilege, during a 
period of about forty years, of meeting frequently the head of this 
estimable family (a privilege greatly prized, as one of the most 
cherished memories of his heart); as, also, of receiving the more 
enduring impressions made by his pulpit ministrations. Many of 

. 5 



the texts forming the foundation of those discourses, as well as the 
manner of their discussion, will remain imprinted ever upon his 
memory. 

For some months past he has also had the pleasure of enjoy- 
ing the intimate friendship of one of his daughters, the youngest 
member of that happy household, possessing the culture and refine- 
ment of her mother, and whose heart - affections seem to linger 
around this home of her childhood. The author appreciating such 
sentiments, which can only be born of the purest impulses of the 
soul, has, under the inspiration of the touching allusions to the 
scenes and incidents of youthful days at this her native home, at- 
tempted to portray some of the events that gave birth to the earliest 
hopes of her budding life; and to associations, the memory of which 
still clings to a heart that cherishes them as the sweetest bloom of 
all life's fairest flowers. 

The author, in describing this rural home, flatters himself that 
he may touch a responsive chord in the hearts of his readers that 
will vibrate to many such sweet memories in their own experience. 

In conclusion, the author is sensible that he would do great 
injustice to his own feelings did he not endeavor to give expression 
to the deep sense of gratitude and profound respect known to be 
felt by the surviving members of the family, the special subjects of 
this little pastoral, for the life -long friendship of our world - renowned 
philanthropist, Mr. W. W. Corcoran, manifested in so many ways, 
especially for the touching and tangible remembrancer in the form 
of a monument that marks the spot and perpetuates the memory of 
their beloved parents, erected by him in the church -yard of Green- 
wich. 



^2j»3- -C»e)fc-> 



RINGWOOD MANSE. 

When, in the shad'wy evening gray, 
As oft in solitude we stray, 
Our thoughts o'er mem'ry's waste will roam 
'Cross land and sea to childhood's home. 



Softly steals the twilight hour, 
Casting shadows all around, 

And its wondrous, witching power 
From the silent depths profound 

Brings the lov'd in perfect semblance, 
Who from earth have pass'd away, 

To our hearts in sweet remembrance, 

That no earthly thoughts can stay. 

7 



Youth, with all its aspirations, 

From the dim past comes to view, 
With its fond anticipations, 

Not all false, nor yet all true; 
Thus my heart in silence glances 

Down life's vista through the past. 
Catching scenes my soul entrances, 

That were far too bright to last. 



Whilst the path, that mem'ry lighteth 

'Cross its shad'wy wide expanse. 
To my longing sight revealeth 

Childhood's home, sweet Ringivood Manse! 
Oh, what mem'ries cluster round thee, 

Dearest spot to me on earth, 
As each scene unfolds before me, 

Where youth's day-dreams all had birth. 

8 



Here, in lovely trees embower'd, 
Stands our Manse upon the hill — 

With this sight my heart, enamor'd, 
Causes ev'ry pulse to thrill — 

And the latticed porch before it 

t 

Clustered o'er with rose and vine, 
Shows me two fond hearts within it 
That love's tendrils closer twine. 



One of these, my precious mother, 

Sitting closely, side by side, 
With my saintly, honor'd father 

In the quiet even -tide. 
What a picture here unfoldeth — 

These two minds of finest mould 
FilPd with that which e'er endureth, 

And more precious, far, than gold. 

9 



Theirs is knowledge, that combineth 

All of learning old and new, 
With the wisdom God approveth, 

Changing not, but ever true. 
Thus they sit, with hearts delighted, 

Watching all our childish plays, 
Every care and burden lighten'd 

By their children's sunny ways. 



As we, sisters, brothers, loving, 

O'er the lawn with gushing glee, 
Romping, jumping, wildly tumbling, 

From all care and trouble free; 
Then to other scenes we 'd wander, 

By the cool, refreshing spring, 
Where, beneath the old oak's grandeur, 

My dear brother hung our swing. 

10 



Or through fields of scented clover, 

In the morning, sweet and cool — 
Joyfully, with dear old Rover — 

Tripp'd our way to Auburn school; 
Or, through orchards sweetly blooming, 

Promise of abundant fruit, 
('Fore my eyes in beauty looming) 

All our various tastes to suit. 



But tvithin the dear old mansion, 
Sweeter mem'ries wait me there; 

Pausing first, with silent rev'rence, 
In the sacred place of prayer; 

Then to grandma's room so cozy, 
Thinking I yet see her smile 

Beaming on us so benignly, 

As it used to all the while. 

ii 



But, my heart, why linger longer 

O'er these scenes to mem'ry dear? 
Naught can make my love grow stronger; 

Let me shed the farewell tear. 
Here no chilling, weary mem'ries 

O'er the heart in sadness steal; 
Every season has its pleasures 

Which to all new joys reveal. 



One more scene my sight embraces — 

'T is the. Mountain, ever Blue — 
As the eye in wonder traces 

Beauties grand that rise to view. 
Still, dear mem'ry, do not leave me, 

One more boon this heart still craves 
Let thy faithful light conduct me 

Where the solemn cypress waves. 

12 



For within its shadow standeth 

Greenwich church, so quaint, so dear 
Swifter now my footstep tendeth, 

As my eye beholds thee near. 
Pausing there, the past reviewing, 

While I shed the filial tear 
O'er the graves of those while living, 

And are still, my parents dear. 



For, beyond the silent river, 

By the eye of faith I see 
Those dear ones — my father, mother - 

Looking down in love on me. 
Yes, I see them! oh, how glorious! 

Clothed in robes of spotless white 

Wrought by Him, who, all victorious, 

Brought immortal life to light; 

13 



And this hope, that so much lightens 

All life's burdens by the way, 
Tells me (and the prospect brightens) 

I shall meet them there one day. 
Whilst their tomb in sweet memoria 

Ling'ring with retreating sight, 
Points to him, the kind bestower, * 

Whose great deeds reflecting light 

From the pinnacle of glory, 

In the topmost niche of fame, 
Ever sung in song and story, 

Speak his philanthropic name. 
For, this sentinel untiring 

Vigils o'er our lov'd ones keep, 
Whilst their calm repose, unbroken, 

Dwells in long, long, dreamless sleep. 



* W. W. Corcoran, who erected the monument over these graven. 

14 






Thus dear mem'ry, fond and faithful, 

Keeps me ling'ring round this urn, 
And my heart with instinct truthful 

Ever to this spot will turn. 
The name of one so true, so noble, * 

Cannot with life's lamp expire, 
But, enduring as the marble, 

Glows as with Promethean fire. 

His is not the fame of warriors, 

Who, thro' courage and thro' blood, 
By the force of arms victorious, 

On the heights of honor stood; 
But the "Home" f to one dear mem'ry, 

Consecrated in his heart, 
Bears a name that never, never 

From his inmost soul can part. 



* W. W. Corcoran. f Louise Home. 

15 



All amid his benefactions, 

Though attracting higher fame, 
None so touching, nor so tender 

As remembrance of some name 
Known in days of past enjoyments, 

When his heart, like theirs, was young. 
Through all changes and employments 

Ever to such friends hath clung. 



For this cause, this dear memorial 

Marks the spot o'er which I bend, 
While my grateful tears are flowing 

For this tribute to his friend. 
And with warm and deep emotion 

Will my pray'rs on wings ascend, 
Off'ring this full heart's devotion 

For the gift of such a friend. 

16 



But stern duty, unrelenting, 

Calls me from these scenes away, 
And my heart, though not consenting, 

Has no choice but to obey. 
Farewell, then, but not forever, 

For while mem'ry dwells with me 
Will this heart without endeavor 

Wander back in love to thee. 



Other scenes may yet delight me, 
Dear -loved friends my joys enhance. 

But I feel there 's naught can charm me 
As thou hast charm'd, dear Ring wood 
Manse! 



17 



Again, by duty's kind consent, 

Fond mem'ry comes to claim my heart; 
On angel wings, with love intent, 

And new-found pleasures to impart. * 
Her map unrolPd, I read again 

The record of my early days, 
And in some sweet, inspiring strain, 

Dear mem'ry, I will sing thy praise. 



Now first, my mother, whose dear face 

Dawns on my vision, stamp'd with truth: 
Oh, how distinctly I yet trace 

The beauty of thy early youth; 
Time does not seem to dim the light 

That beamed so sweetly from thine eyes, 
Tender and soft, as seen by night 

From twinkling stars that light the skies. 



No sombre shadows cloud that face, 

Still present to my sight, so fair, 
Rememb'ring when I first could trace 

Stray silv'ry threads among thy hair; 
Nor could I think that coming years 

Would ever mar a face so fair, 
Nor disappointments, cares, or tears 

Scatter the roses blended there! 



But I have learn'd that time presents 

A mingl'd draught in life's full cup, 
And in his purpose ne'er relents, 

Though bitter, all must drink it up; 
But ere this mingl'd cup was hers 

Much sunlight on her path was thrown 
As many peaceful gliding years 

With shadows' few pass'd swiftly on. 



Her happy household, ever kind, 

Vied with each other to impart 
Daily, new pleasures, that entwined 

Each one more closely round her heart. 
Oh, how can children ever sound, 

Or, 'til experienced, ever know 
The unfathom'd depths of love profound 

A mother, only, can bestow? 



Herself, so lovely, drew the love 

Of all encircled in her sphere: 
In spirit gentle as the dove, 

Made her to ev'ry heart so dear, 
In her all virtues seemed to blend 

And form a character complete — 
To rich and poor alike a friend — 

The Manse became a lov'd retreat. 

20 



In social circles might have shone 

Among the stars a brilliant gem. 
But chose the glory Christ would own, 

And His unfading diadem. 
My father, too. so much rever'd, 

Watched o'er his flock with tender care, 
Whilst they to him, by love endeard, 

Upheld his hands with faithful prayer. 



Thus, hand in hand, they lived to bless 

The flock which God to them had given, 
To guide through joys or through distress 

In the straight road that leads to Heav'n. 
Unmindful of his gain or loss, 

He preached a Saviour crucified, 
Himself conceaFd behind the cross 

On which our great Redeemer died. 

21 



The hist'ry of Christ's church below 

Was the great study of his life; 
And for this purpose strove to know 

Her triumphs, conflicts, and her strife. 
To aid in this grand work he drew 

From depths profound in classic lore 
And realms of thought where only few 

Had ventur'd to explore before. 



To this was added peace of mind 

The world could neither take nor give; 
Leaving its vain applause behind, 

Contented thus to toil and live 
Within his own dear peaceful Manse, 

Surround'd by the joys of home, 
The good of others to enhance, 

From such delights ne'er wish'd to roam. 

22 



Now other scenes by mem'ry's light 

Reveal'd with this dear native home, 
Return to bless my mental sight, 

As they in quick succession come, 
Recalling many happy hours 

When, with my mother, oft we stray'd 
O'er hill and vale in search of flowers 

God in His tender goodness made. 



As Nature, from her sleep of death 

Awaking into life anew, 
And with her balmy, perfum'd breath 

Moistened the leaves with sparkling dew, 
Around in great profusion grew 

Wild violets, with their velvet heads 
Bared to the chilling winds that blew 

In wintry blasts around their beds. 

23 



As harbingers defying storm 

They come to cheer expectant hearts, 
Whilst other plants, hid safe and warm, 

Refuse the joy this flow'r imparts, 
For safe beneath protecting clay, 

They there await all danger past, 
Counting the sun's more genial ray, 

But fearing still the wintry blast. 



The arbutus, too, its lowly place 
Upon the ground, 'neath leaves conceal'd, 

By searching, one can only trace 
The sweetness its pure blossoms yield. 

'T is ever thus with modest worth, 
Tho' shrinking from the world's rude ga ze, 

At duty's call, the storms of earth 

No barriers to its progress raise. 

24 



List'ning, we 'd hear the warblers sing 

Their matin songs among the trees, 
Rejoicing *m the early spring, 

With constant hum of busy bees. 
Delighted, too, would we behold 

The tender swelling buds the while 
As they their op ning leaves unfold — 

Thus many pleasant hours beguile. 



Then March, with storms and chilling wind, 
And changful April, dull and gay, 

Prepare the way, with purpose kind, 
To usher in auspicious May — 

Who comes to deck the earth anew 
1 With Hope's fresh gifts of fruits and flow'rs, 

Whilst garlands sweet, of every hue, 

Are pendant from the leafy bow'rs. 

25 



And luscious fruits from vine and tree, 

Long looked for, now regale the taste; 
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The leafless shrub, and arid waste. 
Then follow on bright summer days, 

With richer fruits, and ripen'd grain, 
Whilst reapers 'neath the solar rays 

Shout "Harvest Home," in joyous strain. 



"Mid lengthen'd days and weary hours, 

Oppressive by intenser heat, 
Within the cool and shady bow'rs 

We 'd find a safe and sure retreat; 
And there, with books, or work, or plays 

Adapted to our youthful mind, 

Forgetful of the sun's bright rays, 

Our duty and our pleasure find. 

26 



Thus summer months would glide away. 

And school -days on our vision dawn, 
Nor would we wish them long delay, 

But hail with joy the coming morn, 
When we again young friends would meet, 

Whom separation made more dear; 
And teachers kind once more to greet 

With love which ever casts out fear. 



Within the Academic Grove, 

Drinking from streams of classic lore, 
With book in hand, we 'd love to rove, 

And o'er its well-conn'd pages pore. 
Oh, happy days! remember'd well, 

And friendships form'd to last thro' life, 
With such my heart returns to dwell 

When wearied with earth's cares and strife. 

27 



Dear Jennie, my sweet Jennie Lee!* 

Friend of my childhood and my youth, 
Through all the changing years to me 

Unchang'd in constancy and truth; 
With me, didst like a sister kind, 

Share ev'ry sorrow, ev'ry joy, 
Impressing on my tender mind 

Lessons that time can ne'er destroy. 

In all the dreams my fancy wrought 

Thou wert my star by night, by day, 
Whose guiding beams I 've ever sought 

To lift the shadows from my way. 
Oh, thou wert fair to look upon, — 

Thy face true index of thy heart — 
Love's tendrils bound our souls as one; 

A bond which naught but death can part. 



* Jennie Lee McCormick, now Mrs. Johnston, West Virginia. 

28 



This golden chain to both so dear, 
Though it be sunder'd by life's foe, 

Will, in a higher, nobler sphere, 

With Heaven's own lustre brighter glow. 



Then Autumn, with her hazy hue 
And golden sunsets follows on 

With cooler nights, distilling dew 
To sparkle in the blushing morn. 

The forest leaves in colors new, 
Changing their beauty day by day, 

Presenting to our wond'ring view 

A variegated, grand bouquet. 

29 



Upon such Indian -summer days 
A hallow'd stillness seems to rest, 

Whose misty veil enshrouds the rays 
Which gild with golden light the West. 

These are the days when poet's dreams 
*Are fill'd with fancies undefln'd — 

Waking, they catch the fleeting beams 
That leave their impress on the mind. 



And from this store their numbers roll, 
Causing some silent chord to thrill, 

That wakes within the weary soul 
A joyful strain where all was still. 

Oh, Autumn days, how grandly fair! 
To minds of contemplative mood, 

Which see in Nature, ev'rywhere, 

The glories of Creation's God. 

30 



And such the days that lovers prize, 

When two fond hearts, that beat as one, 
With hopes more bright than western skies 

All radiant with the setting sun, 
As, hand in hand, they love to stray. 

While yet is seen the mountain's crest 
Reflecting still the lingering ray, 

Last wand'rer from the golden West, 
'Till reaching some sequestered bower, 

The silvery moonbeams struggling thro', 
Touched by the pensive, witching hour. 

To them all things seem strange and new, 

While they in glowing words repeat 

The same old story o'er and o'er, 

Which to their fathers seem'd as sweet — 

And mothers, too — long, long before. 

31 



But Time, which halts not in his flight, 

Onward pursues his ceaseless round, 
Will surely soon bring Winter's night 

With Nature in strong fetters bound; 
For Autumn days speed swiftly by 

With premonitions of their end, 
As leaden clouds obscure the sky, 

And snows in fitful gusts descend. 



Now Winter, marshall'd for the fray, 
Seizes on Nature, weak and worn, 

Stripp'd of her strength and plumage gay, 
Expires, with scarce a feeble groan. 

The conqueror opens wide her tomb 
Made ready for the dying guest. 

But Hope, unseen amid the gloom, 

Steps in, with Nature there to rest. 

32 



Till, on Spring's resurrection morn, 

She '11 waken from this sleep of death, 
To leave her prison -home forlorn — 

Inhale again life's balmy breath: 
So man must sink within the tomb, 

In cold oblivion there to lie; 
But Hope remains to gild the gloom — 

The soul immortal! can it die? 
Thus as with Nature, so with man; 

Death cannot be an endless sleep; 
Time 's but a transitory span, 

From which none e'er may wake to weep. 



33 



Yet, not with genial seasons gone, 

Have all life's pleasures pass'd away: 
Winter, though nature looks forlorn, 

Has much that 's pleasing in his way, 
For in the hours of lengthened night, 

With household joys and lov'd friends near, 
Around our ingle -side so bright, 

Found much to please, delight, and cheer. 



In work, in studies, or in play, 

With kind instructions we 'd receive, 
Swiftly the hours would pass away — 

So swiftly, we could scarce believe 
The separating hour had come, 

Until we 'd hear the bell's soft call 
To gather in that sacred room, 

From every place, the household all. 

34 



Father would then, with godly fear 

Open the sacred Book to read 
(With voice so sweet, distinct, and clear) 

Of wisdom that the wisest need, 
Delighted oft that Psalm to hear — 

The twenty -third — as all could tell, 
The Lord 's my shepherd ever near, 

In safety He will make me dwell; 



In pastures green His flock doth feed, 
Protected by His rod and staff; 

When thirsty, He doth gently lead 
Where all can cooling waters quaff. 

And other portions of God's word, 
Which would instruct and please us, too. 

Forgetting not the narrow road 

Wherein, alas! are travellers few, 

35 



Then, kneeling down, with tender heart 

Commend us to our Father's care — 
Beseeching Him, that, ere we part, 

Love for each other all may bear. 
Through all life's trials and unrest, 

Till called to yield its fleeting breath, 
This service, on my heart impressed, 

Will live to soothe my soul in death. 



And then dear Christmas eve would come; 

All gathered in from schools abroad, 
Assembled in dear grandma's room, 

Where many gifts were safely stored. 
From her we 'd hear, in tender strains, 

The old, old story — ever new — 
Of Bethlehem's shepherds on the plains, 

And heavenly hosts that round them flew, 

36 



Proclaiming to astonished ears 
The story of Immanuel's birth, 

In language of the heav'nly spheres — 

"Glory to God, and peace on earth, 
For unto you is born this day 

A Saviour, who is Christ, your King! 
Whose power all nations shall obey, 
And to His feet their homage bring;" 



Of wise men from the East afar, 
Who costly gifts with them had brought. 

Led by a strange and brilliant star. 
To Him whom they for days had sought; 

To whom, though in a manger laid, 
They came, and, bow'd with rev'rent awe, 

And worshipping, their presents made, 

When first the Holy Infant saw. 

37 



But time would fail me to recall 

And speak of all so dear to me, 
Though I, the youngest branch of all 

That grew upon this family tree, 
Then but a child, with power they come, 

Filling my heart with memories dear, 
As thoughts of this sweet native home 

Must ever start the unbidden tear! 

Nor have I time to speak of all 

The noble branches on that tree, 
As one by one I 've seen them fall, 

Leaving the world so drear to me: 
But, fixed upon my inmost heart, 

One image time can ne'er displace, 
Nor from my thoughts will e'er depart — 

That image our dear Bessie's * face. 



* Mrs. Carter, daughter <>f Dr. Batch. 

38 



A face so radiantly bright, 

Whose eyes with sparkling lustre shone, 
And every virtue took delight 

In claiming this pure heart her own. 
Oh, well do I remember still f 

This one so loved — so passing fair — 
When she, with all her taste and skill, 

Made Ringwood Manse her special care, 



The flowers of ev'ry form and hue, 

The well -trimmed hedge of evergreen, 
Which there in such profusion grew, 

Bord'ring the pathways, smooth and clean, 
Planting around her latticed bowers; 

With care and skill would she combine 
The brightest, sweetest climbing flowers 

That would in tasteful wreaths entwine. 

39 



But in her life there came a time 

Which, long before, she knew full well, 
A manly form, in life's young prime, 

Would come to bear her hence to dwell; 
So, on one pleasant summer day, 

Midst gather'd friends from far and near, 
Our lovely sister went away 

With him to whom she was so dear. 



In Greenwich Church their vows were seal'd, 
Our own dear father blessed them there, 

And many smiles — regrets concealed — 
At parting with this much -loved pair. 

With blessing on the newly wed, 
From friends and neighbors gather'd there, 

They on the wings of love were sped, 

With Hope's bright star ascending clear. 

40 



Where Mississippi's waters flow 

She found her planter -husband's home, 
With cotton fields as white as snow 

Stretching as far as eye could roam; 
With wealth, and husband ever kind, 

All earthly comforts she possessed, 
Which taste and elegance refined 

Could give, to make her truly blessed. 



As years sped on, sweet children came 
To twine around her loving heart; 

And then she knew, not wealth nor fame. 
Joys such as they could e'er impart. 

But 'mid fraternal war's dread strife, 
Far from the Manse and sunny home, 

Her gentle spirit entered life, 

Where all is pea^e, no more to roam. 

41 



But seven pale moons had wax'd and wan'd 

Before the tidings reached our ears, 
That this dear sister rest had gained 

Beyond this troubled vale of tears. 
By war's sad fate th' advancing foe 

Cut off all intercourse between, 
Left us unconscious of the woe 

That crush'd our hearts with anguish keen. 



At last the war-cloud rolled away, 
News came from him whose soul was riv'n, 

And all my mother's heart would say — 
"Rejoice, for I 've a child in Heaven." 

And then, the bitter drops delay'd, 
Were found in our dear mother's cup, 

Thankful that they so long were stay'd, 

With resignation drank it up. 

42 



Then, following on, the drops fell fast, 

That soon would make her cup o'erflow: 
But, thankful for all blessings past, 

She only sought God's will to know: 
His will for her she knew was best — 

This faith had ever brought her peace — 
And on His promises could rest, 

Though earthly comforts all should cease. 



But soon was heard a welcome voice, 

Calling her trusting soul away; 
In this, His will was still her choice, 

Nor wished the summons to delay. 
And now, where Greenwich shadows fall. 

Our mother rests in silent trust, 
Waiting until the Saviour's call 

Shall wake to life her sleeping dust. 

43 



The links that formed this family chain, 

Sundered, and scattered far apart, 
Though ne'er on earth may meet again, 

We 're ever joined to them in heart. 
When, soon or late, our call shall come 

To leave this world of sin and care, 
Oh, may we, in our heavenly home, 

Find ev'ry link united there! 



Dear native home! how strong thy power! 

To draw this lonely heart to thee; 
There 's not a tree, nor shrub, nor flower 

But tells some tale of love to me: 
The road -side gate, which opened wide, 

Admitting weary pilgrims oft, 
The grand old hickory tree, beside, 

And whisp'ring zephyrs low and soft — 

44 



Stirring its leaves with gentle sigh 

(Inviting to this kind retreat 
The way-worn traveller passing by), 

Like sounds of distant music sweet. 
These scenes on mem'ry's page I find, 

As I peruse the record o'er, 
And which affection's cords shall bind 

Around my heart forevermore. 
Again, dear Ringwood Manse, farewell! 

My thoughts will ever turn to thee — 
If not permitted here to dwell, 

A Mecca shalt thou be to me, 
And yearly to thy shrine I '11 come, 

With fresh oblations of my heart, 
And bear with me, where'er I roam, 

All that remembrance can impart. 



Now, as my ling'ring steps retrace 

The pathway from this dear old place, 

I '11 seat me on the rustic stile, 

To muse in silence there awhile: 

Before my vision, on the hill, 

The Manse, tho' changed, is standing still; 

But no familiar face I see — 

All now are strangers there to me; 

The eglantine still climbs the wall, 

The woodbine rambles over all, 

The rose-trees, in their varied bloom, 

Still scent the air with rich perfume; 

The same old trees, beneath whose shade 

In childhood's happy hours I played, 

Still cast their waving shadows round, 

In grotesque figures, o'er the ground; 

The crystal spring's transparent stream 

Mirrors, as then, the sun's bright beam, 

4 6 



Displaying to our watchful eye 
The playful minnows darting by; 
The same old oaks stand round the spring, 
Beneath whose boughs still hangs our swing; 
And rustic seats, my brothers made, 
Where they might study in the shade — 
But, though the rustic seats are there, 
No well-known voice breaks on the air, 
Nor faces bright, as seen of yore, 
Intensely bent o'er classic lore: 
Now, strangers' children, in their glee, 
(Whose faces are unknown to me), 
Sweep through the air on joyous wing, 
And revel in our dear old swing. 
Bord'ring this stream, at Spring's return. 
Luxuriant grew the feath'ry fern, 
And sweet-briar, with its early bloom, 
Shedding a faint, but rich, perfume; 

47 



The wild rose, too, with reaching vine, 
Sending its tendrils to entwine 
Round tangled weeds — thus beauty lends 
To decorate the humblest friends. 
Here, too, the robins came to lave 
Their wings beneath the rippling wave, 
And joining with the low -toned thrush, 
From hazel -bush to green leaves rush, 
Would fly and skip the livelong day, 
Chirping and chattering in their way; 
And sometimes from its hidden lair 
We 'd start the pretty, timid hare, 
Which soon would be, from sudden fright, 
In graceful swiftness lost to sight. 
Beneath the moon's soft, silv'ry light, 
Here we would gather oft by night, 
Watching the fleecy clouds advance 

Across the jewel -decked expanse, 

4 8 



. Whose azure hue, by night concealed, 
Would be with morning's light revealed; 
And whilst the sunset's ling'ring ray 
Reflects its light upon their way, 
Returning home from pastures green, 
Along the lane the cows are seen, 
And lowing with affection, hail 
The milk -maid with her snow-white pail. 
But strangers now dominion wield 
O'er* herds and flocks, and fruits and field; 
And there 's the orchard, loved so well — 
The sap returns, the buds still swell, 
While blossoms sweet on every tree 
Attract again the honey-bee — 
And yearly do th3 f raits appear — 
The blushing peach, the luscious pear, 
The plum, the quince, the apricot — 
Nor can such blessings be forgot — 

49 



And apples ripe, for winter's store, 
Are gathered, as in days of yore; 
But now, for strangers' use and care, 
Doth Nature all these feasts prepare. 
But why should I regrets bestow? 
For change is stamped on all below — 
All this has passed; now other streams 
Must evermore fill up my dreams. 
But, stranger, I must envy not 
Your much -loved home — your happy lot. 
But pray that you with sacred care 
Guard well the roses planted there; 
And all perennial climbing flowers 
That twine their bloom o'er rural bowers. 
The gentle one who placed them there, 
And trained them with unwearied care — 
A flower herself of sweetest bloom — 

Has gone to shed a rich perfume, 

50 



Expanding now mid heav'nly bow'rs 
As one of God's own chosen flow'rs. 
Deal gently, then, with these and all 
Wherever Ringwood's shadows fall, 
Forgetting not the aspen tree, 
Whose branches now o'ershadow me, 
While pausing on this dear old stile, 
I 've silent sat to muse awhile. 
And whilst I muse, methinks I hear 
Sweet sounds that once fell on my ear — 
The flute's soft tones, my brother played, 
Sitting beneath this very shade, 
Within the twilight's pensive hour — 
These strains return with mystic power, 
Recalling days long past and gone, 
But are not from dear mem'ry flown. 
And now, oh, stranger, dwelling here, 
Respect these mem'ries and this tear. 



But recollection calls me back, 

Before a stranger's feet had trod 
In ownership the well-worn track 

That leads across the lawn's green sod; 
Again, by mem'ry's light revealed, 

I see the dear old home once more, 
Thougn for a little while concealed, 

Familiar as in days before. 



A Manse no longer, yet the same, 
And to my heart almost as dear 

(And bearing still the same sweet name) 
As when I shed the farewell tear. 

And now, within these sacred walls, 
I once more rest my roving feet; 

Again, where Ringwood's shadows fall, 

I find the same dear, loved retreat. 

52 



Placed here by parents ever kind, 

Beneath the tender, fost'ring care 
Of one who trains both heart and mind 

In virtues and in learning rare. 
This lady fair,* so loved by all, 

Presided o'er this far-famed school. 
And every pupil must recall, 

With gratitude, her loving rule. 

O, gentle, but erratic, muse! 

Could I but woo awhile thy stay, 
Till from thy treasures I might choose, 

I would a fitting tribute pay 
To one whose talents and whose worth 

Demand the highest meed of praise 
That can be sung by bards of earth, 

Or breathed from lyres in sweetest lays. 



* 3Iiss Milligan. 

53 



I 'd sing how, with judicious skill. 

She learning made a loved employ, 
And smoothly as a gentle rill 

Were all our school - days passed with joy. 
Possessed of wisdom few can boast, 

Who undertake our youth to train, 
And thinking not to count the cost, 

So she their greatest good attain. 



But school -days, with the years, have flown. 

And our dear teacher is no more; 
While we remain on earth to mourn, 

She rests beyond the shining shore — 
Beyond the realms of day and night — 

Beyond the farth'st twinkling star, 
Her spirit basks in Heaven's own light, 

Within the "golden gates ajar." 

54 



In Oak Hill's quiet, sylvan shade 

The earthly form doth now repose; 
Within the tomb dear friends have made, 

Till Time's eventful day shall close, 
Whilst murm'ring rills in ceaseless flow, 

Along this city of the dead, 
Shall chant their requiem soft and low, 

Angels will watch around her bed. 

A shaft of purest marble tall 

Marks well the spot where now she lies, 
Waiting in hope the Saviour's call 

To bid her sleeping dust arise. 
Here oft will friends in love repair, 

With immortelles to strew her tomb, 

And in memoria leave them there, 

The emblems of celestial bloom. 
LofC 



Again, dear memory, I must stray 
From these loved scenes once more away; 
Then guide me to yon sacred hill — 
I Ve one more mission to fulfil: 
And let me there awhile remain, 
Near by the ivy -covered fane, 
Whose silent watchers all around 

Will make me feel 't is hallowed ground. 
And then from earthly cares I 'd turn, 
To weep in silence o'er the urn 
Where sleeps my sister, Annie,* dear — 
But wherefore should I shed a tear? 
No, rather let my thoughts return 
To her past life, and therefrom learn 
How best to live, that I may be 
Prepared, with her, my God to see; — 
The pure in heart shall see their God, 
For so 't is written in His Word. 



Mrs. Ashton, Dr. Batch's daughter. 

56 



My cross, oh Lord, I 'd learn to bear, 

And can, if Thou 'It be ever near, 

To give me strength and lead the way— 

Thy smile turns darkness into day. 

Her husband lives to mourn her loss, 

And bear through life this heavy cross; 

Her manly boy! oh, may her love, 

Through life, to him an anchor prove. 

And though she sleeps within the tomb, 

Her life still speaks, and from its bloom 

Will radiate a light so pure, 

Teaching us better to endure 

The ills of life, and, murmuring not, 

Contented be, whate'er our lot, 

And pointing upward, without voice, 

Will bid our aching hearts rejoice. 

'T was thus when our dear Bessie died — 

My mother, though so sadly tried, 

57 



Kefused to weep, but looking up, 
Tearless, she drank the bitter cup — 
Because this joy to her was given: 
Assurance of a child in Heaven. 
Oh, what a blessing 't is to know, 
When called to part with friends below, 
The passage through death's gloomy night 
Gives entrance to unfading light. 
Her life, where known, a charm did lend; 
As daughter, wife, as mother, friend, 
Fulfilling duties day by day, 
In her own cheerful, quiet way, 
Far from the city's noise and strife, 
Blest in her peaceful, rural life. 



<-*@»3-0'G)fc-> 



58 



And now, dear stranger -friends, who dwell 
Within the home we 've loved so well, 
One precious boon of you I 'd ask — 
And may it prove a pleasing task — 
When Spring's sweet flowers for you 

shall bloom, 
Scatter some roses o'er this tomb, 
As you to Greenwich church repair 
On Sabbath days, to worship there; 
And this lone heart, though far away, 
For your continued peace will pray. 



^($J>>'£*Q)^> 



59 



By menfry ? s aid, in kindness lent, 
I 've sung beyond my first intent; 
The scenes of youth my vision caught, 
Revealing, with deep interest fraught, 
Scenes of the past, so dear to me, 
From which my thoughts refused to flee; 
And thus my numbers, uncontrolled, 
Urged by this heart, have onward rolled, 
Embracing scenes both drear and bright, 

FolPwing in the track of years, 
As Time pursues his onward flight, 

Unmindful of our smiles or tears. 

Sequestered Manse, my rural home, 

This heart still clings to thee; 
Thy hills and vales, I loved to roam, 

Are ever dear to me. 

60 



Oh, would I were a child again, 
And all were now as then — 

The clover -fields, the golden grain, 
And wild flowers in the glen; 

The vine -clad Manse, the ivy twined 

Around the old oak tree — 
Come back with freshness now to bind 

My heart as close to thee; 

The loved companions of my youth — 

My brothers, sisters dear — 
In all their innocence and truth, 

To my young heart so near; 

My mother's love, unselfish, pure, 

Upon my soul impressed, 
Will to my latest breath endure, 

But cannot be expressed. 

61 



Oh, if this aching head could lean 
Once more upon that, breast, 

How could a sorrow come between 
This heart and that sweet rest? 

And my dear father's gentle voice, 
Commanding, yet so sweet — 

How would this weary heart rejoice 
Again those tones to greet. 

This cannot be, for I must live 

On dear remembrance now, 
Thankful for joys it yet may give, 

As to His will I bow. 

"Be still, oh, trembling heart, be still, 
My Saviour's voice I hear: 
'J will be with thee, child, until 
Be dried thy every tear.'" * 

* The author is indebted to Miss J. JR. Batch for this beautiful verse. 

62 



This mem'ry's store gives to my heart 

Others I '11 ne'er forget, 
Who of our household formed a part, 

Round the same altar met. 

Dear " Mammy," gay and active still, 
Watched me with tender care, 

And by ingenious, simple skill 
Made dolls and playthings rare, 

Which filled my heart with keen delight, 

As in her sight I strayed; 
Time passed unheeded in its flight, 

While with these toys I played. 

And faithful Jess, and Peter, too, 

Their sable locks turned white, 

Respected, trusted, ever true 

In all they thought was right. 
63 



To meet them, we would often glide 

Far down the shady way, 
And homeward on their shoulders ride, 

Delighted, happy, gay. 

These were considered faithful friends — 

Others we 'd love to name; 
But for each one there ever blends 

Affection just the same. 

These thoughts have waked within my soul 
A chord that ne'er shall cease, 

But sweeter grow, as ages roll 
Through the bright realms of peace. 

Again farewell, dear native home, 
This heart still clings to thee; 

Thy hills and vales I loved to roam, 
Are ever dear to me. 






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